A song of salty sea breezes, butterscotch beaches, and endless waves. Whether you are new to the surf scene or a seasoned pro, the laid-back village of Taghazout will have you wondering whether a return flight is all that necessary within hours of your arrival.
While December to February is typically considered the very pinnacle of the surf season in Taghazout, we recently swapped the UK’s relentless showers for the warm waves of North Africa.
Located just forty-five minutes from Agadir airport, city streets soon fizzle into coastal bliss. Our first few hours were spent lazily exploring the labyrinth of burnt red and sea-spray blue buildings dotted along the beachfront, before washing away the day with a dip. Sharing stories over summer-sweet loquats, sipping on fresh mint tea with new friends met moments ago – Taghazout felt like a warm embrace, a welcome home.
With life so centered around the ebb and flow of the ocean, our week revolved around the waves. After fueling with pancakes generously topped with amlou, we loaded up our boards and let Mohammed, Zac, Hussain, and Youssef lead the way. Windows down and music blaring, anticipation grew with every mile; Banana Beach became our base, with gentle waves easing us into the ocean’s rhythm – not without plenty of wipe-outs for good measure. With plenty of beaches to choose from, each day brings a new challenge and gorgeous scenery to go with it – a particular must-surf is the nearby Imousane, boasting the longest wave in North Africa at just over 1km in length, on a good day.
Muscles aching, skin seasoned with seawater, the afternoons blurred into lazy hours spent sunbathing while catching a few easy peelers to cool against the sun’s rays. As sunset approached, we flowed with the wind’s gentle breeze on Surf Berbere’s perfectly positioned yoga terrace. Craving slow stretches and deep breathes, an hour flew by to leave us feeling refreshed for the next day.
Each morning we woke primed to take to the waves, but with the swell picking up mid-week, the nearby aptly-named Paradise Valley was a welcome day of respite. Wandering beaten tracks to discover a rich, turquoise oasis, we splayed out like lizards bathing on red-stone, taking turns to leap into the glistening pool below. With the sun unfaltering into the late afternoon, we retreated to the shade, tucking into tagine family-style.
A change in routine, we passed on yoga and climbed the steep slope just opposite Surf Berbere, guided by blue arrows towards the summit. Zig-zagging, catching glimpses of the endless horizon behind us, we made it to Taghazout’s skatepark – a concrete jungle, tattooed with art from the local community who helped build the park itself. Wheels roaring, the park comes alive each evening from 5pm, with the locals putting on a display. Golden hues danced on each skater as the sun slowly met the horizon; a few hours blurred into one, and we left with precious new connections made, retracing our footsteps – following our noses to the dinner table.
Reminiscing on the week gone by, we sipped on mint tea and played post-dinner games with friends long into the early hours, the moon our only light. Eyes silver lined with tears, we said our goodbyes with a promise to be back soon – leaving a piece of ourselves behind in the meantime.
Not only did the waves and sunshine make Taghazout unforgettable; the people, culture, and sense of belonging turned a simple trip into a home away from home. Whether you’re a surf enthusiast or just seeking a serene escape, this little Berber surf village promises an experience that lingers long after the journey ends.
شكرا (shukran)
All imagery provided by my dear friend and roomie for the week, Rebecca de Havas.
Annabel Britton 
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